Hunter Academy: Revenge of the Weakest - Chapter 1002

Chapter 1002: Chapter 235.2 – Practical Mid-terms
The walls of Reina’s office glowed faintly, the mana filaments in the ceiling dimmed to a muted, soothing pulse. The scent of cold paper and polished wood filled the room, and for a few precious minutes, Reina allowed herself the luxury of silence. Her fingers traced the rim of the untouched glass beside her, the remnants of her earlier indulgence forgotten.

Then—the comm-stone embedded in her desk pulsed, a low, deliberate vibration that resonated through the heavy wood.

An Anchor contact.

High priority.

Reina sighed under her breath, steeling herself. She pressed her palm lightly against the stone, and the holographic projection flared to life above the desk—crisp lines, minimal distortion. On the other side, a figure materialized: formal robes layered in deep gray and silver, the insignia of the Anchor Corps woven subtly across the collar. His face was half-shadowed by the encryption filters, but Reina recognized him immediately.

“Watcher Reina,” the man said without preamble. His voice was clipped, official. “We need to discuss the recent developments.”

Reina inclined her head slightly. “Of course. I assume this is about the activation event.”

“It is. And the subsequent reclassification shifts,” he said, his gaze narrowing. “We are conducting a reassessment of previously registered Adepts. Particularly those flagged under ‘contingency compatibility.'”

Reina’s expression didn’t shift, but she knew where this was going. She waited.

The Anchor continued, his voice sharp. “Specifically—[Adept Astron].”

There it was.

“We noticed he is currently classified as inactive—dormant,” the man said, consulting a secondary feed off-screen. “Due to his enrollment status at the Arcadia Hunter Academy. His previous assessments and predictive modeling marked him as exceptionally compatible. His age also places him within the critical bracket.”

Reina let the silence stretch for a second longer before answering.

“That’s correct,” she said coolly. “He is presently inactive due to the Academy’s current restrictions. Since the start of the new cycle, Arcadia tightened security—entrance and exit privileges are heavily monitored. No active deployment without internal authorization.”

The Anchor frowned slightly. “Is there no method to bypass this limitation? His performance markers put him in the top tier for adaptive resonance. It would be a waste to leave such an asset unused during this critical stage.”

Reina’s lips quirked at that—humorless, but faintly amused.

“Under normal circumstances, perhaps there might have been ways to… encourage movement,” she said. “But with the way the political pressure is mounting around the academies right now, it’s delicate. Any direct extraction attempt would cause backlash we can’t afford.”

A beat.

“However,” Reina continued, her voice more measured, “the situation is evolving.”

She leaned back slightly in her chair, fingers steepled before her.

“The Academy is currently in the middle of mid-terms. And given the trajectory of the external pressure—especially now that the Association and Guilds are beginning to realize how the gates are selecting their entrants—there’s little doubt.”

She let the next words fall with the certainty of a knife:

“The Academy will be forced to loosen their restrictions. Sooner rather than later.”

The Anchor studied her silently for a moment, processing the implications.

“So you’re saying…” he prompted.

“I’m saying,” Reina said, her voice like polished steel, “that once the cracks widen, we will have access. And when that happens—[Adept Astron] will be moved back into active status.”

She allowed herself a small, tight smile.

“He won’t stay asleep for long.”

The projection flickered briefly as the Anchor acknowledged the transmission. “Understood. We will prepare a standby protocol in the meantime. If a window appears—notify us immediately.”

Reina inclined her head once, the formalities complete.

The connection severed with a soft chime, leaving the office bathed once more in quiet, pulsing mana-light.

Then, she sat in silence for a long moment, her fingers resting lightly against the edge of her desk. The glow of the comm-stone had faded, but the weight of the conversation remained. Her thoughts drifted, sharp and focused—not just on protocols and contingency drafts, but on him.

Astron Natusalune.

Young, but not unproven. Unranked, but not unread. A ghost in the system who shouldn’t exist by design—yet somehow fit too perfectly into what the world was becoming.

‘He deserves to know,’ Reina thought. ‘He’s not just a tool to be pulled from storage. He’s still one of ours.’

Her fingers moved across the surface of the desk, tracing a command glyph in a clean stroke. A small circle blinked once—linked to Astron’s Watch ID.

Connection initializing…

The mana screen shimmered for a breath, stabilizing. It didn’t ring. No audio chime. Just a direct call routed through the Watchers’ network encryption—quiet and immediate.

The image flickered once before stabilizing.

Astron’s room appeared.

The feed showed clean lines and spartan design. A single light pulsed softly near his bed. The far wall glowed faintly with the arcane warding pattern the Academy issued for personal quarters.

And in the center of it all, Astron sat—his back against the wall, one leg pulled up, a thick textbook resting open beside him. His eyes flicked up at once as the call came through. Not surprised. Just… aware.

“Miss Reina,” he said, setting the book aside without needing to ask who it was.

Reina studied him for a beat before speaking. He looked more worn than usual—perhaps from the weight of midterms, or perhaps from something deeper. His expression was calm, but his eyes held the quiet sharpness she always recognized. That readiness.

“I assume your exam season hasn’t dulled your senses,” she said smoothly.

“Depends on the subject,” Astron replied, tone dry.

A small smile flickered at the corner of Reina’s mouth. It vanished just as quickly.

“I contacted you,” she said, voice returning to its usual precision, “because something has changed. Something important.”

Astron’s gaze sharpened.

“We’ve just received confirmation of global systemic fluctuation.”

Astron tilted his head slightly, eyes narrowing with the same sharp focus that had always reminded Reina of a blade just shy of drawing blood.

“Was that related to the change in mana-levels that happened yesterday?” he asked, his voice quiet—but certain.

Reina’s lips curved, just faintly. Not in amusement, but in recognition.

Of course he’d noticed.

He could see it. Few others would’ve registered the fluctuations beneath the surface—let alone pinpoint them as unnatural. But Astron wasn’t most people. Not with those eyes.

“Indeed,” she said, her tone laced with approval. “You observed it.”

He gave a small nod, but didn’t posture. “I felt the deviation first. The leylines around the western district were… inconsistent. Flow patterns were misaligned with recorded behavior. So I looked.”

Reina’s smile lingered just a second longer before she grew serious again. “Then you already know more than most. But tell me—what did you see, Astron?”

He paused, searching his memory—not for emotion, but for detail. “Not a single point of origin. Just cascading variance. As if something changed the underlying tolerance for mana pressure itself. The fluctuations didn’t spike—they inverted. Some cores even stabilized beyond their natural rhythm. I couldn’t trace a trigger. Only the aftershock.”

Reina nodded slowly, her expression unreadable.

“Good,” she said. “Then you felt the echo. What you witnessed was the system’s reaction. What you didn’t see was the cause.”

She leaned forward slightly, her voice lower now. Measured.

“The dungeons,” she said, “are changing.”

Astron didn’t flinch. He simply listened.

Reina continued. “All across the domain—multiple guilds have reported anomalies. Gates appearing and stabilizing. And then refusing entry. No defense triggers. No breach protocols. They just… sit. Silent. Inert.”

She let the silence hang, then drove it home.

“They are no longer opening for us.”

Astron’s brow furrowed, just slightly. “Not opening?”

Reina nodded once. “Not for older hunters. Not for elites. Not even for stage-10s or higher. The gates recognize them—then ignore them. We’ve thrown every protocol at them. Every theory. They behave like they’re waiting.”

Astron was still now, his posture tightening almost imperceptibly.

“And the ones that do open,” Reina said, “they only open for cadets. For youth. Under twenty-one. Confirmed across multiple districts.”

A beat.

Then Reina added, “You see why I called you.”

And for a moment, the flicker of tension that passed across Astron’s face was unmistakable.

“…They’re choosing,” he murmured.

“Yes,” Reina replied. “And whether this is evolution or manipulation, it changes everything.”

She folded her hands atop her desk, eyes locking with his.

“This is no longer about preparation, Astron. The world is being rewritten. The question is—who’s going to walk through the door it opens?”